Times Worth Remembering
by DawningStar
Summary: Kaim and Sarah have had a lot of reunions over the years. Written for Lassarina in the 2008 Yuletide exchange.
1. Coming Straight Home

Turning the page necessitated putting a hand out of the thick fur blanket. Even in front of the fireplace, it was not nearly warm enough yet, Sarah thought, making the sacrifice with a shiver. And the water for her tea, which had started out as ice, wasn't even steaming.

She'd managed to get the fire up to the brightness she wanted with only the occasional flicker, after half an hour's work on the spell. Its heat was most important, with the chill of the mountain winter invading the stone floors of her home, but Sarah had wanted to read by the firelight. She had the time to spare. Tosca was well snowed in for what looked to be a bad winter, the present heavy snowfall proof there would be no sudden thaw, and even knowing she wouldn't actually die of the cold, Sarah had no intention of venturing even so far as the nearby village.

The trip to Numara had left her with plenty of new books to go over and plenty of ideas to research, but still, it would be a lonely winter. Sarah hadn't minded that so much before she'd known how much nicer it was to have Kaim's company.

The thought of her husband made her smile, shrugging deeper into the fur he'd made for her. At least news of him had reached Tosca before the snow. A small army, not expected to win, had successfully defended its homeland, because a mercenary had shown unexpected skill and rallied the soldiers for an ambush. When you were looking, it wasn't too hard to tell where Kaim had been.

His letter, which had also reached Tosca just before the snow, said only, _We won. I'm delayed. Home soon._

They hadn't seen each other since parting in late spring almost two years ago. Sarah sighed, and tried to concentrate on her book.

Some indeterminable time later, a heavy thump from the direction of the entryway pulled her attention away. Reluctantly, Sarah left the blanket and the fire and walked toward the cold.

Another thump. It didn't sound like a knock--possibly a tree branch had blown loose and stuck in her doorway, it happened from time to time.

The heavy doors were frozen shut. Wincing in anticipation, she threw her weight back until the door came open, with the icy breath of winter.

Snow spilled in, all over the threshold, and a hard, fur-covered form followed it, sprawling on the stone floor.

Sarah blinked twice, shivering, and gasped, "Oh, _Kaim_!"

Her husband made a stiff and unsuccessful attempt to roll over. Sarah got hold of his arms, and managed to pull him far enough inside to shut the door on the biting wind.

Under the fur coat, he was wearing an armored chestplate, which stuck painfully to her skin where she brushed against it. Sarah winced at how that must feel from the inside, wrapped her hand with a thin layer of cloth from her skirt, and slipped her fingers in to tug at the frozen fastenings.

"I don't want you to think that I'm not happy to see you," she began, with considerable asperity, "but what were you _thinking_, Kaim?"

He didn't answer, which was hardly surprising. From the bloodless state of his skin and the sheer cold of the wind, if he were mortal, it would be too late to save all his limbs from frostbite. Even without that worry, it was obvious that her husband was deep in shock, his body too cold to think, or move, or even try to warm up again. Sarah was determined not to speculate on just how many times Kaim must have collapsed in the snow, revived and kept coming, in order to get here.

The armor hit the floor with several loud clangs, leaving him in padding that had iced over where sweat or snowmelt had dampened it. His hands were stiff and whiter than the snow, and Sarah wrapped her own hands around them even as the cold bit painfully into her fingers. "Come on, Kaim," she murmured, half-dragging him to his feet and guiding him toward the warmth of the fire.

Once she had Kaim safely seated, Sarah stripped the last of the damp clothing from him gently, especially where it had frozen to the skin. Her fur blanket was still where she had dropped it, and she settled it temporarily around his shoulders and looked at his feet.

Kaim had never spared any expense for his boots, but even so, the wind or a fall along the way had eventually driven snow down into them, and his feet were worse off than his hands. Sarah shook her head, took a firm grip on both feet, and cast a minor healing spell. She could only heal the damage, and that would be gone soon enough even if she didn't. The change in temperature was still going to hurt.

It was a long few minutes' work to pull the boots off, but Kaim wouldn't be too pleased if she damaged them getting them off. At the moment, the only extra boots he had at the house were patched down the seam, and definitely better suited for warm weather.

"You didn't have to freeze to death getting here," she muttered, though she couldn't muster the acid for an actual scold. It was an utterly senseless thing to do, and at the same time so _sweet_. "You knew I wouldn't mind if you'd kept warm till thaw. I can wait."

"I knew," Kaim said, with half a tired smile. He'd begun to shiver, which was actually a good thing, but it made the words come out uncharacteristically stilted. "I couldn't."

Sarah shook her head again, and didn't bother to suppress her smile. "I'm glad you're home," she said, with deep sincerity, setting the second boot aside to dry by the fire. "But maybe we'd better work on getting our next trip to end in summer."

She tucked Kaim's icy feet under the fur. The tea in her kettle was warm enough now, so she reached for the handle--and jerked her fingers back, mildly scorched. _Ouch!_ She'd forgotten _again_ that she didn't presently have her heat-absorption spell active, drat it. It was invaluable in the kitchen, but made her feel too cold the rest of the time.

"Forgot again," Kaim pointed out, with far too much cheer.

Sarah chuckled. "Thank you, I noticed." She actually had remembered to bring a potholder with the kettle. The tea poured, steaming, into her mug without further trouble, and she folded Kaim's numb hands around it, behind the fur. "Drink that."

He obeyed, sipping the warm liquid with a faint clack of teeth chattering on the edge of the mug. Sarah sat down next to him, shivering herself, and unlaced her comfortable dress before she could think better of it, slipping under the fur beside her husband. She wrapped her arms around him, skin to skin, which could have been a lot more pleasant if he had been warmer than a block of ice.

Still, blood was returning to his face, so he'd be warm soon enough. "Your letter said you won," she began, tentatively. Win or lose, the wars Kaim fought in were not always something he wanted to think about at home, but she always tried to give him the chance if he did want to talk.

Kaim grunted softly. "They actually wanted to declare me king. Can you imagine?"

Sarah laughed at the picture of Kaim's respectful followers--he always made those--trying to shove a crown on his unwilling head. "It seems to work for Ming, but it certainly isn't either of our style." Ming, gifted with leadership, administration, and near-infinite patience, had been Queen of Numara for hundreds of years. Sarah wouldn't have taken the job for any reason in the world.

"How is she?" Kaim asked, reminded.

"Hmm," Sarah sighed, with very faint envy, "she's building another library. Oh, and she says the money you invested in the Numaran sea trade three hundred fifty years ago is getting to be a ridiculous amount in the modern economy, and asks us please not to take it all out at once. Things are peaceful down that way this decade."

Kaim set aside the mug, and slid a much warmer hand down Sarah's shoulder. "Good to hear."

It was, Sarah decided, very definitely going to be a much better winter than she'd hoped.


	2. Hostages to Fortune

One of the nicest things about living a quiet life, Sarah decided, crumpling the delicate parchment of the message in her hand, was that it so rarely landed you in a dungeon.

Kaim could only do the domestic thing for so long before he had to charge out into the world, bestowing his skills on whatever army seemed to need them this decade. Sarah didn't usually mind. She also didn't usually get a terse letter addressed to Lady Argonar of Tosca demanding a ransom for the safe return of Lord Kaim Argonar.

She was pretty sure that the sudden titles were not something Kaim had forgotten to tell her, but instead something that did not actually exist. There had been occasions when it was hard to tell the difference, but this had all the marks of an elaborate hoax. For instance, Sarah did not have even one son, much less the three that the letter claimed were prisoners of war.

The reason for the hoax was patently obvious from the messenger, who was dusty, ragged, exhausted, and a short sixteen years, if that. Also, according to the letter, Sarah's youngest son, fourth of the boys she certainly didn't remember raising.

"Please, m'lady," the boy pleaded, dark eyes wide with stark terror, "I know we ain't really but peasants, only Lord Kaim said as you'd bring the gold an' all. It's m'brothers, y'see, an' my cousin."

The boy's accent was hill-Numaran, which meant he had been just as out of place in the north as Kaim, but he hardly looked a hardened mercenary. "Thought it would be an adventure, did you?" she guessed in resignation, mentally tallying the gold they had at the house. The ransom demand was actually not too unreasonable. There would be enough; Kaim had massed a considerable pile from his various jobs over the long years, and they rarely spent much.

He nodded, fidgeting nervously under her gaze. What commander would have been desperate enough to hire this child and his family, Sarah really didn't want to know. "Lord Kaim told us t' go home, but we din't. The fight wasn't like we thought, and then our side lost."

All the soldiers were children compared to Kaim, but Sarah knew how much her husband hated to watch the youngest die if there was anything he could do to prevent it. This was more elaborate than usual, but not actually surprising. "So my husband said all of you were his," she prompted.

Her recently acquired son swallowed hard and ducked his head. "Yes, m'lady, 'cause my brothers were hurt an' they ransom nobility up Caisin way. Peasants they jus' kill."

Kaim must have done a very thorough job of it, too, since the boy was obviously convinced that at least the nobility part was true. Well, he'd hardly expect anyone else to have enough to meet the ransom, she supposed.

_Honestly, Kaim, four sons?_ Kaim might look just old enough to get away with it, but Sarah knew she looked twenty-five at her most haggard and attracted far too much attention if she claimed to be over thirty. If the youngest of her newfound sons was sixteen, she was more likely to be taken for their sister than their mother. There were disguise spells, but she didn't care to try keeping one up at such close range. If it slipped even for a moment--"That will never work," she muttered under her breath.

"_Please_, m'lady!" the young mercenary begged, dropping to his knees with a sudden and painful-sounding thud. "They're all the family I've got--"

"No, no, of course I'll help you," she hastened to assure him, taking his elbow to coax him back to his feet. "I only meant they'll never believe I'm your mother." She offered a kind smile. "We'll get your family out."

He went utterly limp in relief, and Sarah winced in sympathy. The kid had traveled all this way wondering if Kaim's word would be good enough, weighted with the knowledge he'd have to approach a complete stranger presumably above his social class to beg for so much money...well, he couldn't have been any braver if he really had been Kaim's son.

Softening her voice to its friendliest tones, she said, "Come inside and tell me about your family. I'll need to know if we're going to pull this off. What's your name?"

A hesitant few steps behind her as she returned to the entrance, he said, "My name's Keppin, m'lady."

***

It was only Sarah and Keppin for the weary journey north, and extra horses to help bear the gold--enough to carry the prisoners who would hopefully be coming back in its place. Sarah had briefly considered hiring guards to fit the image she would need to project, but decided that adding yet more complications only increased the chances of disaster. She certainly didn't need the protection. They had left two separate groups of bandits sound asleep in their wake, Keppin gaping at the magic.

The air grew crisper as they neared their destination, cool for early fall. "What do you say if they ask about your mother?" Sarah drilled Keppin, as they rode.

"My lady mother can't leave home so near harvest," he replied, with well-practiced ease. Kep had grown much more relaxed in her company, for which Sarah was grateful. The well-tailored armor and velvet cloak of a young lordling looked almost natural on him now, in spite of how he'd fought her over wearing them. More accurately, over her purchasing them.

"How do you introduce me?" she continued. The woods were green and silent, the road rutted with the deep, muddy tracks of wagons and carriages. It had been a very long time indeed since Sarah had wandered this way, but the route had been burned into Keppin's memory.

He lifted his chin with appropriate pride. "The Lady Sarah, mage-healer to Lord Argonar. They have to let you in to see the prisoners before we make the trade." Magic was virtually unknown in this area, with books and peace to study them rare as snow in summer, which was most of why Sarah hadn't paid the region much attention. She desperately needed to be able to check the health of Kep's family--the boy had described the wounds his brothers had taken and it hadn't sounded good.

Kaim, of course, would survive anything, but he hated being imprisoned, hated it fiercely. With three young mortals depending on him, Sarah was sure he would restrain his usual temper, but still, her heart twisted at how long he'd already been locked up.

Everything depended on Keppin looking confident and important enough to carry off the illusion. By all accounts, the Baron of Willoughby, winner of this little conflict, would be much more interested in the gold than in keeping prisoners from a land he'd never heard of, but if Kaim had angered him too much and he realized that they had no army at home to back up the bargain, things could go very badly. "Well done, Kep," Sarah praised. It had taken a very long time to get him not to duck his head apologetically.

He looked at her anxiously, biting his lip. "We're almost there."

The forest cleared with a suddenness that spoke of axes at work, and Sarah looked critically at the squat castle on the hill. It was walled and dull gray, practical for defense and built without any aesthetic consideration.

"Remember, you are _Lord_ Keppin," she reminded the boy, and he stiffened his back in response. He'd do all right.

Sarah never had explained that she and Kaim were not, in fact, nobility; it gave her an authority with Kep that she'd needed, and it gave him fewer lies to fret over. Though he certainly must think her a terribly eccentric noble.

The castle gate was open for travel, though they'd met no one on the road; things had apparently settled in Willoughby's favor since the victory, if they were so certain there would be no sudden attack. Sarah concentrated on looking dignified, and let Keppin ride forward.

"Lady Argonar sent us to negotiate with Baron Willoughby for the safe return of Lord Argonar and his sons," he declared at the guard's challenge, dropping most of the polished words Sarah had suggested but with all the self-assurance of a young lord. Sarah carefully did not smile.

They dismounted and left the horses in the courtyard, but not the gold, which was safely hidden some distance back as a bargaining chip. A liveried servant escorted them swiftly to an audience chamber, with which Sarah was not at all impressed. The carpet was distinctly threadbare, and the wood of the baron's large chair was splintered around the edges. This could be a hopeful sign--if the baron needed the gold so badly, he might not argue too much.

The baron himself was equally unimpressive, a sallow-faced, incurious man, whose velvet clothes did not make up for his sneering voice. Kep made his demand for an inspection at once, and at the baron's acquiescent flick Sarah followed a servant out another hallway, hoping Kep would hold up.

The stairway downward was smoky and ill-lit by flickering torches, and Sarah held her breath. If any of the young men had died, Kep would be devastated, and Kaim would take it personally. Kaim and Sarah between them could probably take out all the castle guard without much trouble, actually, but Sarah really didn't want to hurt so many people, or draw that much attention, and of course the other boys might be hurt along the way.

The lone guard opened a heavy wooden door for her with a loud click, and Sarah quickly scanned the single cell. There was a sickly odor in the air, and on the farthest cot a flushed face told Sarah who her first health priority would need to be. Another dark-haired boy hovered worriedly over the feverish one, not even looking up at her entrance. The third sat up quickly, rubbing sleep-dimmed eyes.

Nearest the door, Kaim loomed with dark and silent threat, as protective as any father could have been. In his eyes, Sarah could see the wild fury of a trapped animal, tightly compressed and therefore growing steadily more dangerous--but only for an instant, as he saw her and the tension leaked out of him with a sigh.

"Lord Kaim," she addressed him, before he could give anything away with too familiar a greeting. "Have they treated you well?"

He nodded to the sick boy with a grimace. "Their healer doesn't know what he's doing. Jadin's badly fevered."

Jadin was the oldest of the family, by Kep's account, and something of a leader. The other two boys looked at her with palpable hope, and the one beside Jadin shifted to give her room. Sarah moved swiftly to lean over him, calling her magic. The purifying glow swept past her and through young Jadin, and he woke with a startled gasp, sweat breaking out on his face.

"He'll be fine," Sarah informed the worried room, "well enough to travel in a few minutes." The boy would be a little weak for days yet, the infection from the wound taking a toll on his body, but she'd gotten here in plenty of time to prevent any permanent damage. "Are you two hurt at all?"

Both boys shook their heads, eyes wide with respect and gratitude. They looked all right; the middle brother had evidently healed all right from the gash Kep had described.

Sarah and Kaim had once spent a pleasant afternoon comparing languages--there were isolated, extinct dialects no one else had spoken for years, and finding which ones they both happened to know had been fascinating. Choosing one they shared, Sarah turned to him and murmured, "Will they actually let us go after they have the ransom money?"

"I think so," Kaim answered quietly, in the same language. He sounded vaguely disappointed that there might not be a fight. "It's an old custom here, and they almost always honor it. Might be their sons next time."

Switching back to the common tongue, Sarah assured them all, "You'll be out of here soon." She rapped once on the wooden door, and the guard unlocked it again for her exit.

One guard, and an obliging one at that. If Kaim had been alone, he'd have been out of the castle inside of five minutes, number of bodies left behind dependent on how many people tried to stop him. There was nothing he hated more than being helpless, and what he'd put himself through for the young soldiers reminded Sarah all over again how much she loved her husband.

"Are you satisfied, Lady Sarah?" the baron drawled as she returned.

She dipped a nod to Kep, who managed not to slump in relief but almost glowed with it anyway. "Lord Kaim and his sons are alive and well."

"Then we are agreed on the price?" Greed glittered in the man's deep-set eyes, but it was, Sarah thought, honest greed.

"We are," Keppin said, with commendable dignity. "We will bring the gold to your gate, and your men will bring my father and brothers out for the trade."

It went without incident, this sort of trade apparently almost routine to the bored soldiers, though Sarah was alert for any treachery as the freed prisoners mounted the now-spare horses and moved out of range of the castle walls. Kaim, intimidatingly impassive, kept to the back, sheltering the group from any sudden changes of heart. The guards looked rather relieved to see him go, to Sarah's eye.

Keppin collapsed on his horse's neck, hyperventilating, the moment they reached the forest. "I can't believe that _worked_," came his muffled jubilation. "Thank you, thank you, _thank _you both!"

Jadin, a little pale but steady on the horse, bowed awkwardly to Kaim. "We can't possibly repay you, sir," he began, uneasily.

"You lot aren't suited for mercenary work," Kaim said, blunt as ever. "Repay me by finding jobs as city guard or some such thing, and don't get into trouble again."

"I don't understand why you did it," blurted one of the boys Sarah hadn't yet sorted out. "We're nothing but--all that _gold_--y' didn't even like us!"

The other young men winced collectively. "Shut up, Mat!" Jadin hissed.

Mateo, then, the same-age cousin, by what Kep had told Sarah. He stiffened in defiance at the command. "Well, he doesn't, so!"

The forbidding expression Kaim turned on all of them certainly did nothing to dispel that notion. "I don't like watching children die," he said flatly. "Go wherever you like, but stay away from battle. Clear enough?"

Jadin jerked a brief nod. "Clear, Lord Kaim. Thank you." He tugged the reins and brought his horse to a trot.

The other boys followed suit. Kep turned in his saddle, and called, "Thank you, Lady Sarah!"

She smiled, and waved a friendly farewell. "You know," she mentioned to Kaim, once they were out of sight, "you are the only one I've met who could make people that intimidated while in the process of saving their lives."

Kaim rubbed a hand across his face, with a weariness of soul he so rarely allowed anyone to see. "They should never have been out there in the first place. Young idiots." He grimaced, and allowed, "Brave young idiots."

"It must have been quite a trial, being locked up with them," she suggested, tone purposely light.

He grunted. "They were so panicked, they hardly said a word. Afraid they'd give it away--which they might have, with their accents, if anyone here could tell a Numaran from a Far Easterner."

Sarah nudged her horse closer to his. "No trouble, then?"

"Honestly, I don't think they'd've cared if I was a lord or a pirate captain, as long as the baron could get money out of it. All these little wars are tearing the fields to shreds. They'll be lucky to harvest anything this year." The judgment was matter-of-fact, but Sarah could see the helpless frustration in the set of his jaw. "They really need a proper king or queen, but everyone's nominated himself and none of them know what they're doing. I thought, maybe--but there's nothing I can do here."

There were some lives they could save, like Kep's family; and then there was the endless progression of chaos, famine, plague, and war that no amount of fighting could solve. Kingdoms rose and fell on tides of blood, and in the end everyone always died. Everyone except them.

"I liked Kep," Sarah said, in oblique answer. "I think his family will go a long way. It's a good thing you were here for them."

Kaim quirked an acknowledging eyebrow at her. "Yes," he admitted, "I suppose it is."

He was still so tense from the imprisonment, even if he'd never admit it to anyone. "Where were you going next?" she inquired. "Anywhere I could come?" He didn't like to see her near the battlefields any more than she liked to see them, but really she thought he could do with some time away from fighting.

"Oh...west, probably, over toward Gohtza." Kaim turned a faint frown in her direction. "I thought you'd want to get back to Tosca."

Sarah shrugged. "Not yet." Her books were well-sealed and would keep. For years, if necessary.

The grin lightened his face infinitely. "Should be fun, then. Let's go."

[end]


	3. From the Darkness

If her journals burned to ash, they would look the way her mind feels, and be about as useful. The magic is there, but however she tries, she cannot piece together the dust of her memories.

So when glassy shards come to the surface at last, smudged and unclear and shattered into fragments, she polishes them mirror-bright and treasures them more than diamonds.

* * *

It's cool in the shadow of the low cave, though the wind is hot and humid. Sarah leans forward, listening, but she can't hear anything. The trick at the river hopefully threw off any pursuit.

"I didn't need your help," a disgruntled voice drifts from behind.

She turns to look at him. His blood stains her hands and clothes, and if he were mortal he'd be dead already instead of glaring at her. "Of course you didn't, Kaim," she agrees dryly. "They were only going to...what was it...chop the devil into little pieces and burn it. That wouldn't have hurt at _all_."

Kaim reaches for his sword, which cost her a lot of trouble to retrieve and carry here, not that you'd know it from the way he frowns at the dirt on the hilt. "I'd have gotten away just fine without you."

"Oh, well done," she says, "you've got the pride bit down perfectly. Why don't you try for friendship next century? I hear it makes people actually want to help you. And less likely to stab you in your sleep." Because really, after the public humiliation Kaim had handed out, the stabbing that started the rest of the trouble shouldn't have caught him by surprise.

He brushes irritably at the blood-soaked tear in his shirt, but tilts an odd look at her and says, "Well, I suppose we're friends already, then."

* * *

Healing all the serious maladies in a small mountain village doesn't take much of her time, and it's a small price to pay for peace. With her youthful face, it only takes about ten years for people to realize she ought to be getting older, and being chased away as a demon every decade or so isn't exactly conducive to study. Tosca is remote and peaceful, and although she's careful to stay far enough away that no one has to see her not aging, the villagers accept her. Some of them even help keep her secret.

Still, even in Tosca, there are times when the battlefields drift a little too close.

"We figured you'd know what to do with him," the village elder says, eyeing the bloody, armored form on the cart uneasily. "We were going to bury him with the other foreign warriors, then he woke up suddenly and hit Dallen, and Nevas accidentally killed him again."

Sarah does not laugh, which ought to earn her some kind of award. "Thank you," she says gravely. "He is a friend of mine, and on my word, he will hurt no one here."

If Kaim does do something regrettable, it'll be her pleasant life here on the line as well as his welcome. But she thinks he'll behave.

* * *

She isn't sure why he keeps coming back to Tosca. Sarah knows that he has to consider her life far more boring than his own, no action, no excitement, just the quiet study of magic and the newest children of families she's watched for generations. There's no need to catch up on anything. And yet, it doesn't surprise her anymore to see Kaim waiting in her flowers.

The wind sighs over the cliff as they sit together, and she tells him about little Nev's exploits with the ink and Jina's braids, and he doesn't tell her about the latest war, which was over the same things as the last five anyway.

Maybe that's why.

* * *

"Marrying you," he says one day, "I don't want you to think--I can't stay in one place all the time, Sarah."

The wind is soft with spring, and his arm is warm around her. Old Jina down in the village, who says she has been waiting for this her whole life, is weaving a bride-crown for her out of the early flowers. "I know, Kaim," Sarah assures him, and smiles to herself. She loves this village, but she knows that from now on, home will be with him. "You haven't finished seeing the world yet. And I've hardly started. I'm rather looking forward to it, actually."

His faint sigh of relief is a minor earthquake from her position. "You'd come with me? I didn't think you'd want to leave Tosca."

"Anywhere you want to show me, I want to see. Though I have to spend time in the village, too," she adds. "I made a promise." The thought of disease or war overtaking Tosca is physically painful. Even she can't remember just how many generations ago that first promise was accepted, but the villagers have been looking after her as much as she's looked after them.

Kaim nods, and rests his chin on her hair. "It's good to have a place to come home to."

* * *

Ordinary illness wouldn't make her stomach roil, because Sarah is immortal and has never had so much as a sore throat. On the third day in a row, she is sure; one hand drifts gently to her womb, and fear and joy both leave her breathless.

For all her time watching families, and her deep interest in the children of Tosca, Sarah has never begun a family of her own. Kaim has had children before, she knows, with mortal wives, and although their graves are long overgrown and abandoned he remembers them all.

She and Kaim had discussed the possibility of children, long, long ago; but it has been so many years that they both began to believe it was somehow impossible. Any child born to them will be mortal. Sarah has studied and hoped otherwise, but the answer was clear.

Even so, it had seemed obvious, in the abstract, that the joy of raising a child far outweighed the inevitable pain of losing one. But now, the knowledge of a new life is like the first breath of an approaching hurricane.

Sarah knows her own heart; she loves with an intensity that scares her, and so she has always before devoted herself to the general and abstract rather than the specific, to a village and to books and the preservation of history rather than to any one mortal, any one child.

This child can never be abstract. This child is _hers_.

Kaim's hand falls on her shoulder, warm and gentle, and Sarah looks up, smiling through a mist of tears. "We're going to have a baby, Kaim," she whispers.

The echo of pain in his eyes is a glimpse of the future that makes Sarah flinch, but the stunned joy that lifts his eyebrows and brings a wide smile unchecked to his face chases away the fear. Kaim's arms wrap strong around them both as though he could hold them forever.

But forever isn't as long as it used to be.

* * *

Diamonds strung together on the fragile threads of her mind, and Sarah holds them close. Nothing useful.

But she knows who she loves.

* * *

Author's note: Written for Lassarina in the 2008 Yuletide fic exchange. (I treasure reviews like Sarah does memories, by the way.)

With thanks to my beta-readers, vanillathunder215 and Anna Gaskill, and Orichalxos for the last-minute encouragement!


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